


Solace

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Shameless [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blindfolds, Cock Rings, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: As much as Dean hates to admit it, he’s never entirely gotten used to the feel of Castiel’s fingers inside him.





	Solace

As much as Dean hates to admit it, he’s never entirely gotten used to the feel of Castiel’s fingers inside him.

Not in an unpleasant way, though. In fact, out of every partner he’s ever slept with in his long, sordid history of trysts, Castiel has always been able to get him off the fastest—and the hardest—without even really trying. Dean really never took into account either just how large Castiel’s hands were until he felt them splay across his stomach the first time; thick, square, and everything Dean’s ever need to hold him down, all confined in one man.

Now, those same fingers slide in easily, aided by lube and how utterly relaxed Dean is, despite being deprived of his most vital sense. Heatedly, Castiel had blindfolded him for the occasion, but not before trapping Dean’s cock in a silicon ring. Not exactly the most attractive of their collection, but it feels the best, and several times, Dean has worn it around the bunker without remembering it’s there.

It certainly helps now, maintaining his erection without letting him fall into the surge of want that flows through him every so often, particularly when Castiel accidentally strokes his prostate. Though, sometimes, Dean can’t tell if it’s accidental or purposeful; if only he could see Castiel’s face. Castiel may be a world class soldier, but his poker face sucks when it comes to sex.

It feels like it’s been fifteen minutes, Dean thinks, stretching lengthwise along the bed; fifteen minutes of nothing but Castiel kissing every bit of skin he can reach and Castiel’s fingers inside him, just toying with him. No rush, no urgency. Dean would be ashamed to admit how much he likes it, surrounded by Castiel: an arm underneath his head, hand between his thighs, one leg keeping Dean’s legs pinned open. Even after omitting Castiel’s need to push every one of his buttons, Dean can’t escape how intimate it is, to be full from so many angles, awash with warmth and pleasure and admiration.

“C’mon,” Dean moans after a while, reaching out to find Castiel’s dick; all he gets in return is a handful of air and a growl in his ear. “Cas, I wanna get you off.”

Whining never works with Castiel, not when he’s enjoying himself. Neither does blasphemy, but Castiel has never cared one way or another. “You’ll distract me,” Castiel says and nips an already-sensitive section of his neck, no double mottled purple by now. Dean glows even brighter, his chest beginning to sweat from proximity and touch. “You feel wonderful, Dean.”

Dean has fingered himself in the past, yes, but he never would’ve described himself as being _wonderful_ before. But maybe he wasn’t doing it right; Castiel’s fingers feel infinitely better than his own, thicker and full, crooking at all the right angles. Three digits in, and he has Dean’s cock leaking all over himself, the puddle dripping off his flank and onto the bedspread. Objectively, Dean knows he’s wetter than most guys he’s seen, but never this wet, beyond the point of aroused and flirting with pain.

He’s never wanted to come more in his life.

Briefly, Castiel pulls out to rewet his fingers, all while Dean throws his head back and whimpers from the loss. “You’re killing me,” he huffs; Castiel kisses him, but fails to keep him quiet. “I’m serious, my balls are gonna fall off.”

“Your balls are fine,” Castiel admonishes; he takes them in hand for emphasis, lube-slicked fingers cold against enflamed skin; Dean gasps from the contrast, feeling them draw up in Castiel’s grasp. “They’re perfectly healthy.”

 _I’m gonna kill him_ , he decides. Castiel’s fingers pressing against his rim effectively silences him, digits just stroking there; somehow, this feels even better, soft caresses and occasional dips, all to make Dean squirm. “Please…” he moans, open mouthed and desperate. If only he could see himself now: flushed red down to his navel, cock dripping endlessly onto his stomach, nipples peaked and abused from kisses and teeth.

In his lust-addled brain, he fantasizes about watching himself from the view of a camera: Castiel kissing, licking him; Castiel’s fingers plunging in again, curling directly into his prostate; Dean spreading his legs, toes curling into the sheets and his hands grasping at anything he can reach. They should film this, next time. Maybe if he can shove past the embarrassing idea of making a sex tape, he’ll suggest it.

Right now, he can’t think beyond Castiel sinking two fingers inside, this time searching, imploring. “As much as I could feel you like this for hours,” he says, breath hot against Dean’s neck, “I think it’s time you come.”

Castiel’s fingers find their target, and Dean pushes his hips down onto them, clenching tight around the intrusion. It feels good to give in, after enduring Castiel’s thirty minutes of torment; slowly, he rocks in rhythm with Castiel’s fingers, the faintest edge of orgasm creeping up on him, his already dark vision blackening further. “I can’t,” Dean breaths; the ring is still there, choking off his release, but Castiel is anything but insistent. “I can’t come like this, c’mon…”

“You can.” Castiel laps at Dean’s nipple, and Dean practically bucks into his mouth. God forbid anybody else be home right now.

Castiel must be cheating somehow, or he’s worked Dean up so much that the ring seems like memory, because he comes before he can embrace it. It’s not so much a blindside as a slow roll, washing through his body in a wave and incapacitating every sense; in the midst, his cock spills what has to be a massive load, wetting everything from his stomach to his chest, a fleck reaching his throat. And it doesn’t end—if anything, Castiel thrusts his fingers in harder, determined to drain Dean of everything he has. Shouting doesn’t deter him, nor does begging; Castiel only stops when Dean’s cock stops twitching and starts to soften.

The ring comes off easier than it went on, everything down there slicked with sweat and an unnecessary amount of lube. In a way, he’s grateful it’s over; despite how much he enjoyed it, he’s wanted nothing more for the last half hour than to return the favor.

That means flipping Castiel onto his back before Dean’s even ripped the blindfold off. Underneath him, Castiel gapes, wide eyed and slack jawed, his chest and throat painted deep scarlet. He’s beautiful—he always has been, and he looks even better when he’s coming. “Let me get you off,” Dean says, strangely proud of himself despite his release cooling on his stomach. Every instinct screams at him to wipe himself down, but seeing Castiel moan is his only thought.

Later, though, after Castiel has come and shattered a light bulb. For now, Dean grabs the lube, and Castiel leans back and opens his legs.

**Author's Note:**

> I started another AU to procrastinate on my novel and to procrastinate on writing my AU, I wrote this. Someone please pay me to edit because I'm in a self-deprecating spiral and I want a Coke so bad. But I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> Tomorrow is DCBB claims, I hope one of you finds mine!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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